A small island off Croatia and the capital of Germany couldn’t be more different—different lifestyle, different landscape, different language. It was intimidating to think about all the people I would see every day, compared to the absolute silence and isolation of the island. I made a whole post about how city living wasn’t for us, yet here we were, packing a rental car for our journey to an even bigger city.

As much as I want to believe there’s a reason for everything, I’m also pragmatic. In these uncertain times, it’s important to not be too romantic about what is and isn’t possible. The job market right now is a circus. We had to make a tough decision about the future: accept a solid job offer in a big city, or navigate the churning seas of idealism while not knowing where our next paycheck would come from.

It was a no-brainer. We’d had our flight of fancy on the island, which we were immensely grateful for, but now it was time to strap in and work towards our careers. Pragmatism won this round.

Now here’s the part where I say “Turns out, Berlin was the best thing that ever happened to us!” right? Nope. At least, not right away.

The first six months were some of the dreariest, most stressful months we’ve ever had. Living in an altbau (old build) that had formerly been an AirBnB, with no washing machine and the cheapest furniture imaginable, while over-paying by 500 euros, was the first thing to put a bad taste in our mouths. We felt like we were being grifted simply for needing temporary housing—people moving to Berlin can’t apply for a long-term apartment without having a Berlin address already, along with papers from a landlord (Anmeldung), a tax number, and at least three months’ worth of pay stubs. All of that takes time to procure, so you’re stuck in these AirBnB situations before you can find something better.

Apartment hunting turned into a nightmare. You can’t rent a place above or below a certain amount per month depending on your income. We weren’t “allowed” to rent a place that was more than one third of our net income. It wasn’t until I secured a contract job with Tom’s company that we were able to afford a place that had a kitchen already installed (most Germans take their kitchens with them when they move) and a separate bedroom. Even then, the options looked dismal. There were so many new buildings (neubau) that were clearly grifts, asking for 1,500 euros per month for 45m2 of space—a glorified closet. But it’s worth it because it’s brand new! Right? Right?!

Since Tom was working, it fell on me to rush to “showings” with barely any notice. I’d get a text at 9pm from the agent that there was a showing the next morning at 7:30am for a place across the entire city. I had to go—you can’t apply for a place without seeing it. So I woke up at an ungodly hour and took a nearly hour-long train ride to only discover it was one of those glorified closet grifts. I and two other women at the showing were laughing together about how ridiculous all of it was, but my laughter was masking much more.

By mid February, I was depressed, anxious, working too hard, and apartment hunting full time. Our contract with the short term place was ending. It was now or never. Our agent finally caught on that I was pissed, and sent me more reasonable offers. When we saw one that seemed to have everything we were looking for, we jumped on it. We visited at 9pm, tired and desperate, and when we left the building, we sent our application.

It really is a rat race. The first person to send their application to the agent wins; as long as their credentials are “good enough” for the landlord. And thank god we won the race, just in time.

Our apartment is small, but not closet-sized. It faces south, so we’re blasted with sunshine all day long (very different from our dungeon-like AirBnB). Everything is new and functions. No weird smell, no mysterious cracks, no echoes from neighboring apartments. And when we moved in, it felt like we were on our way to a new life, to something that would make us secure and maybe even happy.

One of the things I enjoy about our area is how residential it feels. There are tons of apartment buildings full of families, who we often see hanging out outside. The grocery store is about a seven minute walk away, and there’s a nice running/walking track through a little park here where children actively play. The train station is another five minute walk, linking us to almost anywhere in the city with the S-Bahn.

We also live close to the best zoo ever, the Tierpark, which is like one giant park that happens to house animals. The Tierpark is actively working to bring species back from near extinction with their breed and release programs (similar to the Prague zoo). In April and May there were so many babies being born there, and seeing them try and navigate this strange new world warmed my heart and reminded me to take each day as it comes.

Also, pandas.

And a Dinopark with animatronics!

Things were starting to come together. We found a green vintage sofa and chair for our living room, played ping-pong at the public ping-pong table, explored a huge cemetery, and got our balcony cat-proofed with the help of the amazing and inclusive Driller Queens, who can do almost anything requiring tools, and we got our hair cut after 2 years of sporting the unkempt island-chic look.

Then . . . we caught Covid.

After avoiding it for 4 years, it was a huge blow to see that second line on the test. Sore throat, headaches, body aches, brain fog, immense fatigue, the whole shebang. Covid plucked us right out of our bright summer plans and tossed us into a swamp of tissues and depression. I couldn’t believe it was happening, but still I tried to stay positive.

Staying positive can be difficult when the curve balls seem like such deliberate gifts from the universe. Amid my Covid stupor, I did a tarot reading for insight. I use tarot as a means for enlightenment rather than fortune-telling; the cards represent certain large and small aspects of our lives, which help me think deeper about what’s going on in my subconscious. It’s like a mirror, or a telescope that, instead of pointing to stars, points to different aspects of “me”.

Incense burning and shamanic drums beating, I dove into the cards to extract meaning. What I got wasn’t what I’d hoped for. The universe, or my subconscious, was telling me that things aren’t going to appear clear right now. Things are fuzzy. It’s time to use intuition and faith instead of analysis. Things are changing, majorly. And all will become clear in time.

Blah, blah, BLAH! I wanted to shout. But the cards were right. Questioning why the winter was so bleak, why the move was so hard, why German bureaucracy was kicking our butts, why we got Covid just in time for summer—it was useless.

It was as if the cards were saying, “remember all that inner work you did on the island? yeah, now’s the time to cash that in, honey.”

I’ve got my writing. I’ve got my partner. I’ve got my cats. And with everything that’s happening all over the world, I know I’ve got it pretty damn good. I need to be aware of that. What the future holds for us in Berlin is hazy, and maybe if I ever finish a book that journey will take us elsewhere in the world. But for now, I have to embrace it as my home. And I have to trust that things will turn out ok.

Vielen Dank fürs Lesen. Thank you for reading.

P.S. eine kleine Ergänzung für meine deutschen Leser: Meine Erfahrungen mit den Deutschen waren bisher wirklich schön. Ich mag euch wirklich. Danke für eure Geduld mit meinem schrecklichen Deutsch. Ich habe vor zehn Jahren an der Uni Deutsch studiert. Ich bin so alt. Tschüss und bis bald!